


Going to a bar with Undyne

by morefishplease



Series: Comfy Fish Stories [37]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Bars and Pubs, Cute, Drinking, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 20:37:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10704633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morefishplease/pseuds/morefishplease
Summary: What it says in the title. Due to having originally been written and posted for a different site most of my stories' titles are just descriptions of the story, and I'm too lazy to make up meaningful titles for everything.





	Going to a bar with Undyne

When you walk into the bar Undyne raises a rowdy glass to you, yells out across the clamor, calls you over. You sink into the stool next to her, tuck your bag down, stick one of the stool’s legs through a strap. Undyne watches with a bemused smile. “Nobody’s going to steal it,” she says, reaching out, running her hand roughly over your shoulders, tousling your hair. She smells of alcohol already, and it mixes with her own natural scent to produce a strong sweet smell, like wine.

“I know,” you tell her, “but it never hurts to be sure.”

“Suit yourself,” she says, signaling to the bartender. When your drink comes you sip at it gingerly, watching as Undyne downs another one, pushes the glass aside. Her eyes flick over to you and you can see they’re looser, sharper already, the way she always gets when she’s drunk. She’s rougher with you, for one thing – she’ll restrain herself less, throw her arms around you, nuzzle you harshly, leave scars from playful love bites. Whenever you complain she withdraws into herself with a shock, like an eel, gets quiet and subdued. She’ll run her hands over you with exaggerated gentleness, pressing at you lightly, checking for broken bones, no matter how hard you assure her that you’re okay, you’ll just go get a bandaid (not the Daredevil ones, she likes those).

She leans in, presses against you as well as she can and you can feel her hand on your thigh. “I really missed you today,” she confesses, batting her eyelashes at you. You roll your eyes, fit your hand over hers, feel the feverish warmth radiating from her.

“Why?” you ask, tracing a finger over her scarred knuckles. She shrugs, takes another drink, wipes her mouth.

“I don’t know,” she says, “I just did. I wanted to be back in bed with you so I could just wrap my arms around you and not have to go do anything.”

By now you’ve finished your drink and you can feel it blooming like a soft injection of warmth in the pit of your stomach. You smile at Undyne and she smiles back, big and toothy and gawking. “I know, I’m a dork,” she says, squeezing your thigh almost but not quite hard enough to leave a bruise.

Time passes. You and Undyne watch a bit of the game, laughing to each other at its mutual incomprehensibility. Undyne cheers when everyone else does but you busy yourself watching Undyne, at the way her gills puff out little by little as she gets progressively more soused, the way the rosered blush spreads over her cheeks, the way she keeps glancing over at you then back away again quick when your eyes meet –

“Cat got your tongue?” Undyne asks in a rough growly purr and you flick back to her, realize you are a little bit drunker than you thought.

“Hmm?”

“I asked when you wanted to leave,” she says, enunciating with exaggerated slowness. You raise an eyebrow.

“We’re leaving already?”

“No, I was just asking when you wanted to,” she repeats. You still can’t quite seem to grasp the concept, and tell her this, and she rolls her eyes, leans in, takes your earlobe between her teeth, bites lightly. You manage to keep yourself from gasping, but it’s a titanic effort.

“Let’s go,” she whispers.

“Why?” you ask, trying to nibble on her fin, but it’s pulled back too far, so you end up kissing her lightly on the cheek.

“You’re fun when you’re drunk,” she growls, and the hand on your thigh starts to slide upward but you smack it away.

So you leave. Undyne pays this time, pulling out her wallet before you can fumble for yours. Her eyes meet yours, steady gaze fixed on you, and you drop it. Not all fights are worth winning, you think.

On the way home Undyne, sweet-smelling Undyne, electric-heater Undyne whose skin sizzles the falling raindrops as they come, pushes you into an alley, presses you against the wall, wraps her arms around you tightly, presses herself into you. You can feel her arms against your back –

“Undyne,” you say, a thin shock of lucidity running up your spine.

“Yes?” she asks, nibbling at your collarbone.

“I’ve left my bag at the bar.”

And so Undyne rolls her eyes with a huff and lets you fall lightly to your feet, and you trudge your way back to the bar holding hands, with a smug smile slowly blooming across Undyne’s lovely face.

**Author's Note:**

> People like to trot out 'write what you know' as solid writing advice, but really it's less 'write what you know' and more 'write what you can imagine.' I don't drink or go to bars so for this request I had to come up with what it must be like through the sort of aggregate of pop-culture concerning bars that's collected in my head all this time. I have no idea if it's accurate or not, but that's the other trick - this story, you'll notice, focuses a lot less on the actual setting of the bar and more on the characters, so if you're really unsure you can just keep things vague and your reader will fill in the blanks themselves.


End file.
